The Whipping
by katnipsgale
Summary: The whipping scene from Catching Fire, told from Gale's perspective.


Gale stormed through the snow, his fury burning so hot it was almost surprising that steam wasn't rising from his skin. How could she? How could she be so selfish? The girl who had met him in that cabin had not been Katniss Everdeen. His Catnip had only ever cared for others. It was why she risked hunting in the woods for all those years, it was why she volunteered for Prim, it was why she would have been willing to die in Peeta's place in the games. It had pained him to do so, but he had watched enough of the games to know that her selflessness, her genuine care for others had carried through. She hadn't lost her compassion in the games, so what had changed? She said she was afraid, but it had never stopped her before. Fear had motivated her, had motivated both of them, so what on earth could have changed?

By the time Gale was paying attention to where he was, he was already at the fence. Sometime during his musing he had gripped the turkey's neck in a vice like hold. He quickly let go and slipped through the fence. He steps were steady as he made his way through the frost to Cray's house. Cray would pay him well, and a smug feeling of satisfaction welled up through him at the thought of the head peacekeeper buying a poached turkey off of him. How could Katniss think of running when rebellion was breaking out? They could finally be free, not just their families, all of them. Free to govern themselves, free to hunt and feed their families, free to start their own families, free to truly start living. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, his hand rising to knock resolutely on the door of Cray's house.

The face that greeted him was not Cray's. The man standing before him had a visage that looked as though it had been carved from stone. The angles of his face were sharp and his eyes were small and dark and cold. The bitter wind which howled through the streets had nothing on the presence of this man. Gale took a little involuntary step back, but even as he did so he knew it was too late. The man's eyes had dropped to the turkey Gale was carrying and a cruel smile twitched at his hard mouth.

"Just where did you get that?" The man asked, his voice as cold as his demeanor. Gale couldn't help but take another step away.

"Where's Cray?" He asked as casually as he could muster, though every fiber in his body was screaming at him to run. He felt it, the fear that Katniss had spoken of only moments before and his back straightened slightly, his jaw setting. He wouldn't run, he was no coward. He would take his punishment, he would face his so called crimes, and he would use it to fuel the fire of his hate for the Capitol.

"What is your name, boy?" The man asked, his voice cutting like a whip.

"Gale Hawthorne" Gale replied, bristling slightly at being called a boy by this pet of the Capitol.

"Well, Gale Hawthorne," The man sneered over his name, "You are under arrest for the poaching of a turkey belonging to the Capitol. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Gale knew no amount of words would save him from this, so what was the point? He had been caught red-handed. What an offense_. "How dare I provide for my family, keep them from starving,"_ he thought with a sneer of his own. His eyes burned with rebellion as he met the gaze of this new peacekeeper. "No." He said simply, his tone almost challenging.

* * *

Gale was in a haze as he was marched from Cray's old dwelling, to the town square, to be put to trial. His legs had moved without a thought as he walked between two peacekeepers. Their grips were tight on his arms, but there was no need for them to hold onto him. He wouldn't have run. There was no where for him to run to in any case. His mind seemed to have drifted from his body, where he watched the events that were taking place as though he was one of the bystanders that had gathered, instead of being the spectacle they had congregated to see. When asked how he had acquired the turkey, the lie slipped easily past his lips.

"I stabbed it, with a wooden stake. It was wandering around just inside the fence…." for a moment he nearly added that his family was hungry and he couldn't resist such a plump bird. But he was not standing before a jury that could be swayed. He was standing before this new head peacekeeper who was more stone than flesh. No stories of starving children would sway him to mercy.

The sentencing was quick, but Gale barely heard it. The world around him seemed to have been submerged underwater. His vision blurred and swayed, his hearing was muffled, and he hardly even registered the fact that his jacket was being torn from his shoulders. A wooden post had been set up and he was ushered towards it. His eyes wildly scanned the crowd as he was hit in the back of the knees until he knelt beside the post. A moment later his shirt was gone as well and his hands were bound to the post, and still it was as though nothing could connect in his mind. He was still an observer, watching in horrified fascination as a young man was tied to a post and a whip was being unfurled in the hands of a madman.

A shiver shook his body as the wind bit sharply at his exposed skin, seeming to suck the warmth away and carry into the sky to float above the trees. He let out a shaky breath as that fear he had felt before began to consume him. His eyes closed as he waited, waited for the first blow to fall. He hated the Capitol. He hated their rules. He hated this life he had been born into. He wanted more. He could survive this. He would survive this. He had to. He wanted to see them all burn too much to not live.

Seconds that felt like hours dragged by before he heard the whistle through the air as the whip was raised. Pain as he had never felt before exploded across his back, making him see stars through his closed eyes. The fog that had permeated his mind was suddenly cleared by the whip snapping against him. He had bitten down on his lip to keep from screaming, and he could taste blood in his mouth from where his teeth had broken the wind chapped flesh. A second whistle and again the pain. He arched towards the post, his hands clenched into fists as he refused to make a sound. He wouldn't give this peacekeeper that satisfaction, he couldn't.

_three…. four…. five…. six…._

With each stroke he resolve crumbled a little more. He was dizzy with pain, nauseated by the way the burning liquid of his own blood scalded across his shredded back, only to cool in the bitter air before another lash caused another scorching wave to slide across his mutilated flesh.

_seven...eight...nine...ten...eleven…_

The sound that tore from him was harsh, and it stung his throat as it left him. As though a dam had been broken, now that he had cried out once, it was as though he couldn't stop. Each new lash brought with it a scream of agony. He had never imagined something could hurt so much. He had never imagined that something could only continue to hurt worse. Every stripe seemed to intensify ten fold and he was sick with the pain.

_sixteen...seventeen...eighteen… nineteen...twenty…_

He was sagging against the post, his body barely acknowledging the abuse it was suffering. His throat was as raw as his back, and nothing but weak gasps and moans of agony made there way out.

_twenty-one….twenty-two…_

Darkness began to creep in around him. The fog returned, carrying with it a certain pleasant weightlessness. He was being drawn away from the beating, drawn away from the pain. He should resist, he should fight for consciousness. He had wanted to live, to see those who had hurt him and his people suffer, but that was before he had felt the fury of this peacekeeper. It was before he had known what true pain was. Now he just wanted out. He wanted it to end.

The gasps of the crowd, the whistle of the whip, the red-hot pain, they all faded away as utter darkness enclosed him in its warmth. It cradled his broken body, easing his suffering as it dragged him down….down... down….


End file.
